An Expert Liar
by moonlit-shadow0x
Summary: Draco is an expert at hiding what he really feels and thinks. Harry is an open book. HPDM Slash


The pitcher of pumpkin juice sloshed over the rim, sending a spray of orange liquid to cascade down the table in thin streams. Harry barely registered it. The round frames of his glasses were stubbornly trained on the Slytherin Table, as they had been constantly for the past two weeks.

"Draco's not back yet."

Ron rolled his eyes a bit exasperatedly, rather untrusting of the newest spy on their side. "With any luck, he'll stay gone 'til Christmas. Mum keeps badgering me to invite him over, but just imagine it, Harry! That ferret lounging in _my_ room!" The redhead visibly shuddered.

"That's an awfully terrible thing to say, Ron," Hermione chimed in. "He's out risking his neck while you're receiving knitted sweaters from your mother."

Stabbing his dinner with a fork, Ron's face crumpled. "I'm not sure which is more terrifying, 'Mione. Mum's sweaters or You-Know-Who." Harry couldn't help but snicker guiltily. "So far, _she's_ winning."

Hermione looked like she was about to respond, eyebrows knitted carefully in thought and lips poised delicately in the middle of forming words particularly for scolding purposes. She was disrupted by the sudden roar of wood as the oak doors flung open, revealing a fairly wary looking Potions Professor.

Harry's heart leapt, just as the cutlery between his fingers did before they clattered noisily onto his plate. If Snape was back, surely Draco was too. Slipping his book-bag onto his shoulder, the Gryffindor waved his friends off with a few words he claimed was an explanation. Though, it wasn't like the two didn't know where he was off to.

"I just had a frightening thought." Ron said as Hermione pried open a heavy tome.

"I really don't want to hear about the time your brother transfigured your favourite toy into a spider—"

"No, _no_." Ron's ears grew pink. "I was going to say – imagine Draco wearing one of mum's knitted sweaters."

Hermione sighed.

x.x.x.x

Draco's room was warm when he entered. The blonde was sitting in the middle of the floor, a book larger than any of Hermione's settled heavily in his lap. Harry sat across from him, tilting his head to one side sharply until his glasses became crooked on his nose.

The Slytherin looked quite nostalgic, with his eyes closed and lips parted slightly only to let in slow currents of air. Pale eyebrows were angled downwards in concentration. Draco seemed to meditate more often, claiming it was a great aid to Occlumency.

Harry sometimes sympathized, knowing the act of closing off one's mind was not only dreary, but painfully important.

It wasn't rare for the Gryffindor to watch Draco, neither disturbing his attention nor diverting it. Perhaps that was what startled Harry when the blonde gently called out his name, one eye peering out from a previously closed eyelid.

Dumbfounded, Harry sat motionless.

"Harry," Draco repeated, placing the heavy textbook on the ground and leaning over. "How did you know I was back?"

Snapping from his stupor, Harry reared backward. "Snape came down for dinner. I'd have thought you were famished as well." The soft glow of Draco's face during meditation was contorted in a bored scowl. For reasons unknown, it was the off sneer usually lingering on the blonde's soft features that Harry liked best.

"Oh. No. We stopped at Grimmauld Place and Mrs. Weasley practically shoved slices of minced pie down my throat." He didn't look too bothered, perhaps even appreciating the gestured. Then, the content look on his face melted into one of uncertain dismay as he stretched back to give a clear view of his torso. "She also left me with this grand parting gift."

It was the first time Harry saw the sweater he wore, and he couldn't stifle the short laugh that protruded from his mouth. The light grey sweater was actually very quaint, with the letters "D.M" scripted on them in silver. "I have one in emerald." Harry commented rather uselessly.

The corner of Draco's mouth lifted briefly, before he looked back at his book. "I hear," he began cautiously, his half lidded gaze reaching Harry's. "You'll be staying at Hogwarts this summer."

The far wall of the room suddenly became of deep intrigue to Harry as he avoided Draco's gaze. "Oh, that. Well, er—Lupin's promised to train me before my seventh year, and Hogwarts seems the appropriate place for that to happen."

Tucking his fringe to the side of his forehead, Draco pulled at the ends of his new sweater. "And it has nothing to do with my staying here over the holiday as well?"

Draco had made it quite clear that he and Harry were anything but an item. Sharing kisses after Transfiguration, before Charms and in between History of Magic didn't make them anything past acquaintances. In fact, the Slytherin often objected noisily to being called "friends" if caught in the wrong mood.

So, taking all said into consideration, Harry shook his head quite vehemently. "Not at all."

"Liar."

He wasn't sure when Draco's delicate fingers had curled into the folds of his robes, or when the straight nose pressed softly against his own, but Harry did find himself leaning into the heady embrace. There was something drug-like about Draco, whether it was his penetrating gaze or smooth skin, that made Harry feel like all the oxygen in his body had to be forced out.

He exhaled loudly, warm air brushing across Draco's angled features.

There was a flurry within his chest, which he soon pinpointed to be his heartbeat, as Draco leaned toward him with palms flat against his collar. "You're a horrible liar," he whispered. Harry noticed the meditation from before had left Draco's eyes incredibly clear, and the urge to kiss the soft lips hovering above him grew.

"And you're too good at it," Harry breathed, reveling in the soft touch of Draco's fingertips as they brushed against the harsher lines of his own face. The blonde smirked, pushing Harry down to the ground slowly, then straddling his hips.

"You might be right." The fingers that held Harry's face smoothed down his neck as Draco leaned closer, eyelashes fluttering. Then, he placed a soft kiss to Harry's left cheek. Slender arms encircled the blonde's waist as Harry looked up into guarded grey eyes.

It may have been the hopefulness in Harry's face that caused Draco to look away and instead place a softer kiss on the opposite cheek. There was rawness in the fluid movements of Draco's limbs as he squeezed his thighs against Harry's hips and finally kissed the other boy full on the mouth.

The kiss was exact. Draco had made sure that Harry knew he hated messy kisses. Anything passionate resulted in loss of control, and the ever collected son of Malfoy would not lose any possession of his – especially not control. So lips moved expertly against lips, perfection simplified in gestures.

Harry would never find the refined kiss fulfilling enough. It was as if Draco held a part of him back; the part Harry was most interested in discovering. The result of such feelings was Harry pulling back and hooking a leg around Draco's bent knees. He would maneuver them quickly, before Draco had a chance to protest, so that the blonde was beneath his pressing body.

The most satisfying element in such a move was the wanton arch of Draco's back as his control slipped for a quick second. His shoulder blades would push against the floor as his jumper-clad body would create a strong, perfect arch with the ground.

Rosy lips slipped apart and exhaled a shuddery breath that was caught between his own and Harry's mouths. Gently, though persistent, Harry's tongue probed Draco's lips, and in his moment of surrender the blonde allowed the intrusion. The kiss slowly escalated toward messy, Draco's jumper rising up his abdomen and Harry's hand following the curve of slender hips.

When a sharp gasp escaped Draco's mouth, his heavy eyelids fluttered open for a quick second. They squeezed shut immediately as hot breath washed over his face, Harry unlocking their lips to stare intently at the body below him.

"It's unbelievable how pretty you are."

Draco made a face, though his eyes were still closed as he panted softly. Their kisses hadn't lasted long, but the blonde felt short of air regardless. He placed a smooth hand atop the one that rested on his waist, though didn't bother rearranging his jumper back to its original state. "Snape thinks you love me."

The remark caught Harry off guard, and silence erupted. Then, quieter than the silence, Harry looked up at Draco's face of which eyes were still carefully shut.

"Snape's always been able to read my mind."

Draco's eyes finally opened though his breath regained normalcy with difficulty. Pushing Harry off him, he ignored his ruffled appearance but out of decency, made a point to pull down his sweater. The Gryffindor rolled onto the ground, staring up at the high ceiling with his arms out at his sides.

"You're mad." Draco said from his sitting position back in the middle of the room. His voice was plain, unmasked yet it didn't feel that way.

Harry thought vaguely of Mad-Eye Moody, and then strangely of his glasses. They were off his nose now, instead placed neatly in the neck of Draco's jumper. He stared at them for a minute, before smiling. "So are you."

There was a placid moment of thought. Draco made an effort to hide his delight.

"So am I."

x.x.x.x


End file.
